


The Golden House of Fëanáro?

by Clara_Jimmy



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, First Meetings, Rare Pairings, There's A Tag For That, Years of the Trees, happy Valentine's Day Fëanáro :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22736359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clara_Jimmy/pseuds/Clara_Jimmy
Summary: A fated match?
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Indis
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	The Golden House of Fëanáro?

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sure if this is a crack fic.  
> I treated this seriously, but at the same time had a great time laughing at Fëanáro´s predicament. Boy doesn’t know what´s coming.  
> OR PERHAPS this could be an AU where Fëanáro/Indis works out :D :D  
> Let´s pretend I´ve posted this yesterday, on Valentine´s Day ♥️

Laurelin´s light fell on the little stream that run on the left side and made the water sparkle; the clear water put him in mind of the finest crystals, the likes of which he had only seen in Aulë´s halls. Looking around Fëanáro felt accomplished. The meeting went well, his points had been made and accepted by most of the community and he had crushed Tinindo and his ambitious essay. Fëanáro had a reason to smile and walked slowly, relishing the warmth of the day and the beautiful scenery; full of green and full of flowers. The Vanyar knew how to take care of the growing nature. Walking the path that would lead him to the main road and then straight home to Tirion, he marvelled at what he saw, until something made him pause and his thought turned elsewhere. 

There were two women up ahead, dancing among the blue flowers on the hillside, their fair hair radiated in the air, and Fëanáro recognized one of them. There she was; the poet he had seen in the square in Valmar a few days ago. Now she appeared to be enjoying the treelight just before the time of Mingling and the fresh grass and flowers and the company of her friend. As the dance soon ended Fëanáro watched them laugh and then bid each other farewell and part ways. The poet began walking towards the path and he moved again as well. 

There was something about this woman that kept him intrigued. In Valmar, he had witnessed her skill and talent in crafting beautiful and inspiring words. Her poem had discussed the themes of live, beauty, nature and light, but also mystery and power. She had spoken with determination, fervently, as she evidently felt deeply aligned with her work. But nothing about her delivery had been forceful, she only seemed full of joy. The poem had caught his interest, but also the way in which she had chosen to present it. She had been standing on top of the grand fountain in the square and had gathered a large audience around her. Making a grand gesture, Fëanáro like that. And her appearance didn’t lack, she was beautiful in that unique Vanyarin way; tall and gifted with hair that resembled molten gold and sparkled like a million diamonds. 

Fëanáro saw her step onto the path and decided to go introduce himself. They could talk about so much, no doubt they shared interests, and he could begin to court her. 

His head was already wandering in thousands of directions, imagining their possible future. If she fell in love with him, if they got married, if she agreed to live with him in Tirion. His house would become golden, for surely at least some of their children would inherit her majestic colour. Gold and black went together wonderfully. He liked red, she probably preferred blue. Their House colours could be black, gold and deep purple. They would read together, discuss important issues and books together and co-author world-shattering essays. She would teach him how to be a better dancer. He would teach her how to make jewellery that looked like flowers. He could easily see her lighting the whole palace with her merriment, with her inner and outer brightness. His father´s court was a cold place of heartless politics and his father himself was gloomy in mood more often than not. Like Fëanáro, he had always wished for a big family, alas his dream had been viciously cut short. In this way his father could find similar happiness. 

Surely, she had a cheerful disposition, like the Vanyar typically had; a tendency to laugh and approach matters with a positive and carefree attitude. Which, he had to admit, could pose a trouble when things required a careful a dedicated logical approach, but could on the other hand keep one satisfied and relaxed as they went through life. But he was sure she had a balance; he remembered the poem. 

He caught up with her and slowed. 

“Good day, my lady. May the Valar bless this day,” he spoke the greeting customary on Taniquetil and smiled at her. She immediately returned the smile. 

“They have blessed it already,” she said, “how are you doing?” 

“Quite splendidly,” he replied, “my day has just turned better. I must admit I am falling in love with the nature around here. And how are you?” 

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed and laughed, a sound like dozens tiny bells, “what you say – I feel likewise, I adore all of the nature here, especially the flowers.” She stopped. 

“I am called Indis,” she said and then Fëanáro actually recognized her. So, she was from the Royal House, Ingwë´s niece. He had known she was a renowned poet and a dancer, and now he regretted they have never met before. Once again, he was envisioning the possible future. Now that Fëanáro was intrigued, he couldn’t seem to stop. He had a clear goal. It felt like how he supposed fate did. Together Fëanáro and Indis could forge a great alliance between the royal houses of the Noldor and the Vanyar, and thus unite their people. He would find a way to add the Teleri later, Fëanáro decided. Indis and he would find the mightiest house of the Eldar. Their descendants would be beautiful, smart and talented, inheriting and learning the best from both of them. 

“I am honoured to meet you, Indis,” he spoke, “my name is Fëanáro.” 

“I wondered if you were Finwë´s son.” 

“Do you know my father? I didn’t think so,” Fëanáro replied, feeling mildly surprised. He could not imagine where they would have met as his father rarely left the confines of the palace or Tirion. Probably at Ingwë´s court, but when he couldn’t guess. 

“No, not really,” she answered, “we have talked briefly a few times, but I know of him of course. And I know enough to recognize his son!” She laughed, so honestly, at herself or the situation, he didn’t know, but the sound made him feel even more elated and confident. He liked her so much. And Indis seemed to be well disposed to him and his family, that was a promising start. Fëanáro instantly wanted to invite her to Tirion and was already making plans to visit Valmar or Taniquetil again soon. 

“I am pleased to hear that,” he replied, “would you allow me to accompany you for a while?”

**Author's Note:**

> Tinindo means the One who Glints/Glitters, in Quenya (from https://realelvish.net/)
> 
> Sorry, Fëanáro, but it´s too much fun to mess with you.  
> And somewhere, Vairë and Mandos are having a headache...  
> I went through the relationship tags and found out Fëanor had been shipped with literally everyone and anyone. Like even Orlando Bloom...


End file.
